A Daughter Lost
by A. Grazinsky
Summary: Before Esme Platt died, before she even had her son, there was a daughter she thought had died. Elinor was well aware her father didn't want her. Eighteen years later, her normal world and the supernatural collide.
1. What is Normal?

_For the record, I own nothing but Elinor. if I owned anything more, well, I wouldn't be living in a town that wants to secede from the union now, would I? Anyways, I, The Blind Pirate, do not own anything. So please, call off the mean men in the funny suits. They aren't needed. : )_

Locked in a dark room, a young woman huffed in annoyance and rolled her eyes. The desktop lamp that provided the only light in the spacious room illuminated an aged tabletop covered in various books, journals, miscellaneous papers, and records. Her long, pale, delicate-looking fingers traced over the words of a letter.

"_Miss Platt"_ the letter began formally,

"_It is with great regret and with our most sincere condolences that we at Grishan & Co inform you of your late father's death. Your presence is requested at both his funeral and the reading of his will, or if you are indisposed, you are asked to send a family member or legal personnel in your place. _

_Sincerely,_

**_Jonathan Grishan_**

_**Theodore Howze**__"_

Well, she thought idly, it wouldn't be the first time she had to pose as one of her own offspring. Luckily, this time, she was of age to have a granddaughter with her physical appearance. In all the time Elinor Adrienne Platt had existed, she hadn't aged past her eighteenth birthday – the day she had died.

Sent to her London cousins soon after her birth in February of 1930, Elinor had lived in total ignorance of both her mother and her father. She lived according to her Uncle William and Aunt Mary's rules, believing that she had come from Underhill with the faeries. Her small stature and dark coloring – save her mother's brilliant blue eyes – supported that theory until she reached puberty and grew to a whopping 186 cm, too tall to have been a changeling. And, as her relatives never ceased reminding her, too tall for a proper lady.

It was while escaping from such caustic comments that Elinor met her demise.

London, at night, is never a place a respectable young lady wanted to be, much less in a dark alleyway in the slums of town. But that was where Elinor found herself fleeing her cousin George's malicious attention. A fight had been initiated during dinner; one of George's friends, a Harold Mayhew, had expressed his intention to George of pursuing Elinor for her hand. George had brought up the subject over dinner, and while Elinor reacted with abject horror, William and Mary seriously considered the offer.

Harold was higher up in society than the Crofts, he had served honorably in the Royal Air Force for the beginning of the war before he had been shot down and removed from active duty, and he was wealthy, fully capable of supporting Elinor comfortably for the rest of her life. The only things they did not consider before urging their niece to accept the offer was Elinor's personal opinion of the man, and the character of the man, for George was known to associate with well-known rakes and ruffians of the highest order, all of them pathological liars, gamblers, and occupied in less-than-honorable ways.

Refusing to even consider Harold as a possibility for her future, Elinor ran from her family's persuasions, being followed out the door by an insistent George. He had chased her past Baker Street, on to King's and deep into London's busy epicenter. There, she ducked into a small, darkened alleyway and pressed her back to a doorway near the middle, partially hidden by the indented doorframe. She breathed in and out slowly, methodically, to make less noise and keep her heartbeat steady. A cat passed by her feet, rubbing gently on her shins before she quietly shooed it away, nudging it softly with her foot.

A few moments passed before she saw George's shadowy form pass the alley, disregarding the black tunnel that he thought she would never hide in. He ran on, searching in vain for his errant cousin. A couple minutes more, and Elinor sighed in relief; she was safe from the influence of her overbearing relatives. Her plan at the moment consisted of nothing more than escaping London and traveling somewhere else. Perhaps her local friends in the RAF could help her find a plane flying out of the county willing to take on an extra passenger.

After carefully scanning the empty streets for George's lumbering figure, Elinor stepped out onto the road, a free woman for the first time in her life. Whistling cheerfully to herself as she practically skipped down the sidewalk, she swung her hands as if she were a child again, and twirled about in the mist.

A noise behind her made her stop and check once again for signs of George. A quick scan revealed nothing, though she thought she could make out a lithe, shadowed form coming from her alley about a quarter-kilometer back. Urgency suddenly laced her steps as she noticed the form approaching her much faster than she had anticipated. One last time, she had turned around, nearly running again, only to catch sight of a man in the air, coming down from a leap right on top of her. Before her world went black, Elinor saw his perfect white teeth coming down on her shoulder and his menacing red eyes gleaming with an unholy light as his body came crashing down upon hers with the force of several automobiles.

When she regained consciousness, she had no idea how long she had been unconscious, no idea where she was, no idea whose face was hovering over her own. The man, so she had determined as she opened her eyes, ricocheted back when she tried to sit up.

"I wouldn't recommend that." He advised sagely, "You're still adjusting."

"And what am I adjusting to?" Elinor questioned, not quite sure what the man was referring to; she felt a bit battered, but normal nonetheless.

He gave her a strange look and leaned in, bright green eyes shining with sympathy. "What do you think happened before you fainted?"

She shook her head, struggling to recall the events of that night. "George was chasing me, so I hid in an alleyway. He didn't think I'd hide there and passed on, so I left. It was foggy. A man followed me, but he wasn't George. He… bit me?"

"He was, quite literally, after your blood." The strange man answered, turning his head ever so slightly to look out the door, "Linael here found you shortly thereafter, the vampire still drinking from you. He brought you to us, and, well, we had to make… improvements to save your life."

Elinor peered curiously at another man who had just entered the room, and then turned back to the green-eyed man above her. "What adjustments?" she demanded, a threat lacing her voice.

The man flinched. "Well," he began, "your maternal grandmother was one of us, and your exposure to Underhill as a child seems to have brought out her dominant traits. When you came to us, we didn't have much of a choice. So we replaced your human blood with some of ours; vampire venom doesn't affect us like it does the mortals."

She looked helplessly around the room, unwilling to say out loud the truth she suddenly understood.

"You're fae now," the second man, Linael, informed her. We could either intervene or let you live a mockery of life, a half-life if you will, dying because of the poison in your system, yet unable to pass on because of your immortal heritage."

"Immortal heritage?" she questioned faintly, "My mother's mother?" At Linael's nod, she continued, "but my mother died when I was four. Suicide. She jumped off a cliff. She died. I _can't_ be immortal. I just can't be."

"Let me assure you that you now are. You will not age, and you cannot be harmed save by iron weapons. For the time being, Denoriel and I will be your guards, your escorts, and your teachers Underhill." Linael informed her. "You are to meet with Queen Titania and King Oberon tomorrow morning. Your grandmother, Elysia, was a great favorite of theirs, and they have requested your presence."

Elinor cast her eyes down and idly picked at the seams of the flawless quilt covering her exhausted body. "Great," she mumbled, "first day in faerie and I'm already going to embarrass myself in front of royalty."

Denoriel looked up sharply. "Do not be so sure." His voice held the same razor-edged quality his glance conveyed, "I believe that if you trust your instincts, you will know exactly how to behave. All of the fae do. And no matter what you think, you are one of us."

At Elinor's frantic look, Linael made the decision to do what Denoriel should have first considered. "_Sleep_." He commanded, watching silently as her eyes drifted shut. For now, she would rest and recover, but come morning, she would be put to the test as Elysia's granddaughter. It was a test he both feared and hoped she would pass.

_Okay, so I know it doesn't have much to do with Twilight now, but it will. So far, pretty much, Elinor is immortal , but **not** a vampire. She'll meet the famous Cullens later on, but until then..._


	2. Delusions of Grandeur

_So here's the second chapter. Thanks to those of you who left comments, every little bit helps, and those of you that put this on Story Alert; this chapter is dedicated to you guys._

Chapter 2

When Elinor awoke, she panicked, unsure of her surroundings and more than slightly afraid to look and see what the heavy weight at the end of her bed was. A slow, cautions peek past the rumpled covers revealed a silver head of hair, a pair of strangely pointed ears emerging from the strands, and a previously unheard light snoring. A giggle bubbled in her throat to see such a dignified persona in a strangely natural state.

Before her laughter burst into the calm morning air, a darker figure rounded the corner of her doorway, beckoning her into what seemed to be a large open hallway.

"So it wasn't a dream." She wondered aloud as her guide (kidnapper perhaps?) led her down an expansive, richly decorated, but empty hallway. It was more of a confirmation of reality than a question, but her guide saw fit to treat it as such. He steered her into a huge kitchen area by the elbow and sat her down across from him at a large, carved wooden table, a pensive and almost angry look on his face.

"No, miss," he answered slowly, dubiously eyeing the fruit she wolfed down without so much as a thought, "but be cautious. That sleep you just experienced makes some ill. I am Linael, if you have forgotten."

"Elinor," she smiled sheepishly at him, setting down an apple with tremendous care, "and the…man on my bed?"

"Denoriel," he sighed, then explained at her curious look, "he has been your protector for many years."

"Oh?" she enquired softly.

"Yes", Linael elaborated with a little distaste showing on his face as having to become the girl's storyteller, "He's been watching over your family sin the time of Queen Elizabeth."

"I think I see. He is somehow bound to protect me and mine?"

Linael shook his dark head, "No. Just the first-born daughter of each generation. You are, whether you believe it or not, more special than your peers on Earth. Only those daughters have the characteristics of the Sidhe."

"And thus I was able to become one of you?" she frowned in thought as she gently rubbed the tips of her newly-pointed ears.

"Yes," he answered shortly, seemingly relieved that she understood. Not that she could blame his impatience; she wouldn't want to explain everything in detail to a newcomer - and a half-breed at that. "Now we must wake Denoriel and prepare you for your audience with Titania and Oberon."

"Right," she grimaced, "that."

A clear laugh sounded from the doorway, making Elinor jump slightly in surprise. Denoriel, it seemed, had awakened on his own and stood in the doorway, his beautiful silvered hair in disarray from sleeping at the foot of her bed. "Don't worry. They'll understand. Besides, your grandmother was quite …frank when it came to voicing her opinions and she still lived. Just remember that they are King and Queen of Underground and all will go well."

Elinor gave a dainty, but rather unladylike, snort. "As if I could forget their titles," she muttered under her breath, launching Denoriel into a new wave of laughter.

"You might be surprised," Linael remarked wryly, smiling for the first time Elinor had seen.

"Right," she scoffed, "What does one wear to meet the King and Queen of the land one currently inhabits?"

A mischievous grin lit up Denoriel's face, and she began to worry for her sanity. "Whatever one's guardians instruct one to wear."

"No." She said flatly, "I refuse to wear ruffles and frills. For God's sake, Denoriel, I hail from the twentieth century, not the fourteenth."

"Actually," he corrected the intimidating grin still on his face, "this gown is from the sixteen hundreds, so the seventeenth century, not the fourteenth. Your history is a little rusty."

Elinor watched his face in fascination as her own heated up in anger. "You think my history is _rusty_?! Denoriel, I won prizes at Oxford for history. I know everything that happened to Britain, both within and away from her shores, from the time the Neanderthals rummaged for food in the ice age to the most recently created invention. I may be a woman, but that does _not_ mean that I am incapable of learning, or that I have an inexplicable interest in fashion as so many men assume my sex does. I am a rational human being. Not some ridiculous cupie doll you can play dress-up with all day."

She fumed at the sidhe in front of her, and saw red when he began to chuckle mercilessly.

"_What!_" she screamed in irritation.

Denoriel sat down heavily, head in hands, his shoulders shaking violently in mirth. "You…"he gasped out between bursts of laughter, "You aren't … aren't human any…any more… You're…you're sidhe…"

"And why the _hell_ is that so funny!" Elinor had enough of the ridiculously childish man and, after she had successfully torn off the offending garment, stormed from the room clad in little more than a shift and slippers.

The sun shining through the windows was warm and pleasant, causing her skin to tingle in a comforting manner as she strode out to the garden. Butterflies danced in delicate, complicated patterns around her head, but it made no matter. She was _livid_. How _dare_ he treat her like some pliant child, a doll? How _dare_ he make fun of her slip of tongue when she'd only just recently left behind a human life? What gave him the right to make a ridicule of her in front of the entire sidhe court? First impressions were important, if he didn't know. She didn't exactly want to be killed or targeted because she looked like a fool before the King and Queen.

But, _no_, Denoriel the famed captain of the Wild Hunt had no respect for the girl he'd supposedly been protecting for eighteen years. Elinor huffed, still fuming, but calming down. After all, the idiot hadn't really lived among humans. He'd never had to flee an arranged marriage or an enraged cousin. He didn't understand human life, only that of the sidhe, of his people, one of which she now was. In his mild comprehension, humans were short-tempered, short-lived, and of little to no importance depending entirely upon their bloodlines.

"I see that you've discovered my brother's weakness," a soft, feminine voice came from behind her. Elinor whirled about, coming face-to-face with a woman…female sidhe with an appearance similar to Denoriel.

Stumbling back, Elinor tried desperately to right herself before she flopped ungracefully into the rancid fish pond behind the bench. Arms spinning uncontrollably, she fell back and braced herself for the moment when she would hit the stinking, green, murky water. Instead, a thin but curiously strong hand grasped at her wrist and pulled her back on balance, causing her to fall forwards instead, her flailing body careening into a soft, fabric-swathed woman.

"Sorry," Elinor mumbled, blushing profusely. "I wasn't expecting anyone to be here."

A musical laugh emanated from the unearthly woman before her, "I surmised as much. You must be young Elinor Platt. I am Aferdaen, Denoriel's half-sister."

"The resemblance is uncanny," Elinor admitted, "I nearly thought it was he in drag when I saw you."

"Drag?" A delicate white eyebrow was raised slightly in curiosity.

Again, Elinor blushed, "Right," she muttered, "ummm…Aboveground it means that a man or woman is dressing opposite to the nuances of their gender."

Aferdaen laughed, music falling from her lips. "My brother may be flamboyant, but it would be a rare incident for him to act anything but masculine."

A nervous chuckle escaped Elinor. "Erm. Yeah."

"However, I believe that my brother has most likely been trying to pressure you into some rather heinous articles of clothing, as indicated by your rather obvious escape and ranting." Aferdaen looked pointedly at Elinor, "If you were to come with me, I might have a few gowns that seem less offensive to your more modern sensibilities."

Elinor gaped at the ethereal woman. "I love you." She said seriously, her face devoid of any emotion save admiration and apparent hero-worship, and followed Aferdaen down a cobblestone paved pathway to a modest home with a distinctly more feminine interior. A closet the size of Elinor's old room in London yielded various dresses that seemed less odious and medieval to the blue-eyed sidhe.

"Must I go?" Elinor pleaded to her newfound friend.

Aferdaen rolled her eyes. "They won't harm you. Titania loved your grandmother; don't give a hint that I told you this, but the Queen has already persuaded Oberon to give you Elysia's old position as an ambassador to the mortal world. You would be dealing with all transactions between fae and mortal, and by thus, you would only have to spend very little of your time in the Underground, giving you time to learn our customs."

Elinor stared at the woman, shocked. "You mean that they want _me_ to represent the fae to the mortal world? I don't know the first thing about being fae!"

"I wouldn't worry. I've been handling the affairs for the past one hundred years, and I will give you the time to assimilate the duties. There is little need for you to stress; judging from my brother's reports of your progress, you have the makings of a natural politician."

Elinor screwed up her face in concentration, "Isn't that a bad thing?"

"Not with the sidhe politicians," Aferdaen remarked, a wry smile creeping on her face, "They are notoriously honest, courageous, honorable beings. Unless they're from the Dark Court. Then they tend to be lying, cheating bastards."

"Vindictive much?"

"Only to the point of name-calling when they can't hear me. I'm intended to be the new ambassador from the Light Court." Aferdaen rolled her eyes, catching a glance of the mortal clock hanging above the doorway, "Now we need to get you to Oberon and Titania before they have Denoriel sweating a river from nerves."

"He can suffer," Elinor flicked back her long hair carelessly.

Aferdaen grabbed her elbow and began to drag her out the door. The dark-haired sidhe resisted only a little before she realized how strong her new friend truly was; it was as if she were facing George in kindergarden again and he was dragging her to the park for football. Soon enough, Aferdaen pushed her up to a gateway in the middle of the garden.

"This will take you to the castle, I'll be right behind you the whole way. Just step through and then tell the porter your name. He should let you through no questions asked. If not, call for me and I'll help."

Elinor barely had time to nod before she was pushed into the portal and her limp, alarmed body was deposited unceremoniously on the other side. She stumbled out of a gateway, and nearly into another when strong arms pulled her upright. With no small relief she glanced into the golden eyes of her saviour, thanking him with gentle mutterings and embarrassed looks of gratitude. Her pale cheeks flushed as she shyly asked for the porter.

"I am he." His beautiful tenor voice echoed in her ears.

"I am…"

"The Lady Elinor, grand-daughter to Elysia. I know. The King and Queen are expecting you." He smiled, making her heart melt from sudden bashfulness.

"Don't frighten the poor girl, Jarlath." Aferdaen stepped through the doorway, "If you'd wanted to speak with her, you only had to ask, not accost her as she stepped into past your post."

"But he didn't." Elinor protested, missing the hint of amusement in Aferdaen's eyes, "I nearly fell into the next portal and he rescued me."

Jarlath grinned, unnatural white teeth gleaming in the partial sunlight, "It is no more than a jest, fair lady, between Lady Aferdaen and I. She sees me, I fear, as no more than a womanizer, at least so far as the beautiful young fae women go. An unfounded belief, I might add, as I prefer only those of my own species."

"Species?" Elinor asked dazedly.

"I am told that you were attacked by one of my kind prior to your… introduction to the Underground."

"Vampire?" she asked hesitantly, warily, watching his every movement.

His gleaming teeth made an appearance again, "Yes. Are you frightened?"

"Possibly," she edged toward Aferdaen, "But the one who assailed me had red eyes."

"True," he conceded, "there are some benefits for a vampire living in the Underground. One of which is the vanished need to feed. In short, I and my compatriots Underground no longer require blood for sustenance."

"Good to know," Elinor nodded, turning to Aferdaen, "When is my presence required?"

"About five minutes ago."

"_WHAT?!_" Elinor began to sprint in the direction of the white castle, scarcely caring whether or not Aferdaen followed, or if Jarlath was still mocking her naïveté, or if Denoriel ever even bothered to come through the portal. All that existed in her world was getting to her meeting as soon as possible, hell to the consequences.

_Again, not any twilight yet (other than a brief salute), but it's coming... I promise. Next chapter, Elinor gets her meeting with Titania and Oberon, and recieves her assignment. Also, she might meet the Twilight gang. Just drop me a line if you can think of any way to improve the story. And thanks again! You guys are great!_


	3. To Meet a King

_Once again, thanks to all who reviewed. It was very enccouraging, but, and I swear I'm not complaining, I would really love it if more of you guys would leave reviews or, failing that, those of you who do give me some constructive criticism. I sure don't think this story is perfect! Anyways, this is once again dedicated to you, my lovely readers._

_The Blind Pirate_

Chapter 3

The gardens whizzed by as Elinor ran, mourning the loss of time to appreciate their beauty. But she could not afford to miss the meeting with Titania and Oberon.

"Aferdaen!" Elinor snapped, still sprinting down the winding garden path from the portals, narrowly avoiding a collision with an overhanging rosebush, "Lead me!"

Her blonde companion rolled her green eyes to the sky and ran lightly to catch up to the frantic Elinor. But the dark-haired sidhe was moving much faster than Aferdaen had ever seen a sidhe run before, and she was hard-pushed to keep pace with her impatient friend. "By the Gods, Elinor!" Aferdaen exclaimed, panting furiously and dodging various vines that fell from the arbor, "You're faster than Jarlath, and he is among the quickest of the Underworld vampires!"

"That's nice," Elinor answered absently, tearing through a pair of heavy wooden, metal-braced doors to continue her mad dash through the beautiful hallways lined in exquisite tapestries and decorated with lavish rugs and gilded ceilings. Her voice gave no hint of exhaustion, no clue to any shortness of breath, for indeed she had none. "Are we quite near yet?"

"Al-almost." Aferdaen panted, affected by the run that had left Elinor untouched and clutching at her side as she gradually slowed pace. "Next…door."

Elinor searched the hallway and very quickly spied two armour-clad guards outside of a doorway. One, a male, wore silvery armor Elinor knew could not be iron, and bore a thick sword at his hip. The other was a female covered in a bronze material and carried a thinner, but presumably just as deadly, rapier. Gulping slightly as she walked through the ornate doorway, Elinor looked back to Aferdaen.

"You'll be with me right?" her voice wobbled, betraying her nervous state.

"Next to you the whole time." Aferdaen promised, moving after her friend into the spacious hall past the guards.

Elinor nodded, her face turning a shade paler than she was not three minutes before, and kept her feet moving only by sheer force of will. Inhaling deeply, she took an easy pace through the thick wooden doorway, ignoring, for the most part, the intricate etchings on the frame. She chanced one last glance behind her, only to see Aferdaen, protesting furiously, held back by the guards at swordpoint.

She gulped visibly, bracing herself for what she was absolutely certain would be a bloodbath, and watched her feet gradually enter the room, which, upon further investigation, seemed to be a sort of garden courtyard that was oddly out of place after traipsing through such a striking palace. Her brilliant blue eyes wandered over the draping willow, the subtle hills of lilies, the gentle trickle of a brook, before they landed on a pair of thrones seemingly carved into the golden-white wood of a giant ash tree. Within the exquisitely imprinted chairs, Elinor could nearly make out two figures: the one on the left seemed to be Oberon, dressed to the nines in dark hues of blue, purple, and black, and to the right seemed to sit Titania, clothed to be her husband's perfect foil.

Approaching the pair slowly, respectfully, Elinor talked herself through the introduction. They would, she imagined, already know who she was and what her background was, but there was no point in having them clueless if they were indeed uninformed. At long last, she reached base of the dais upon which the giant ash grew, and was well within the gaze of the Faerie King and Queen.

"Your majesties," Elinor decided not to embarrass herself by attempting a curtsy, and instead bowed low, a task made all the easier by the lack of petticoats and hoopskirts Denoriel had wanted her to wear. For the second time, she was grateful for Aferdaen's friendship.

Her homage paid, she lifted her torso from the bent position and took her first look at her new sovereigns. Oberon wore an expression she could only describe as a friendly scowl, his broody appearance shortening her glance to turn to Titania's much more cheerful figure. Dressed in white, gold, and light green, the queen, with her silver eyes and golden locks, seemed very much the opposite of her husband, whose fiery green eyes inspired fear and awe.

Titania smiled softly at the newest sidhe, welcoming her into the folds of the Queen's grace. She stood, her white gown reflecting the sunlight to create a sort of invincible halo about her very presence. "You must be Elinor." She held her hands out to the dark-haired woman before her and stepped deliberately down the dais. "Your grandmother was a great friend of mine, and I hope that you fill her place."

"I shall do my very best, your majesty." Elinor bowed again, but was stopped in midbow when Titania pulled her up.

"One of the first things you must learn about the sidhe is that, though it is proper to show respect, the continuous subservience often exhibited by mortals can be considered offensive, for we are all equal. All born of the same race, all gifted with freedom Underhill. Though some of us may hold positions of power, such as Oberon, your guardian Denoriel, or myself, this is only to keep order, and these positions of influence are gifts. Mistreat the power given, and it is taken away."

"It is the most basic law of Sidhe," Oberon's unearthly baritone rumbled from behind his wife, "Everyone is worthy."

"Everyone sidhe, you mean." Elinor corrected.

"No," Oberon raised a dark eyebrow, "everyone Underhill. Denoriel has experienced… difficult times at the hands of mortals, and often forgets the kindness they have done him as well."

Elinor stared pensively at the King, absentmindedly plucking at her lower lip. Her brow furrowed in thought, trying to imagine what humans could have done to him to provoke such a disdain of their kind. After a few moments of brooding, she made up her mind that she didn't want to know. Anything that could scar a sidhe that badly was surely something that a girl of eighteen didn't want to know.

"I see," she acknowledged softly, "but it is my belief that this matter was not meant for the ears of a child."

Titania laughed, a sound full of music and hints of nature. "My dear, it is not so much a forbidden subject as it is a sore point for the famed Captain of the Hunt. To be bested by that which was once his prey? A travesty, especially to one such as Denoriel."

"Do not tease, my love," Oberon murmured into his wife's voluptuous blonde curls, "He does his duties well and honorably."

"Indeed." Titania turned a critical eye on Elinor, "Speaking of duties, we have a task for you, if you wish to take it."

"I think Aferdaen already told me," Elinor grinned sheepishly, "but don't tell her I told you that she told me. At least," she frowned, "I think that's what I'm trying to get across. Please don't tell her you know who told me. Or something like that."

Oberon tossed his wife a large golden coin.

"You bet on whether or not she would tell me?" Elinor began to laugh uncontrollably, her full-bellied laugh less delicate, yet more infectious than Titania's carefully planned courtier laugh. "I thought only the humans had such vices as gambling, especially in such high positions over trivial matters!"

Almost embarrassed, the King and Queen of Underhill turned to face the hysterically laughing girl.

"It isn't a vice," Titania protested.

"More of entertainment." Oberon completed.

If possible, this made Elinor's already outrageous laughter blossom to a crescendo. It seemed that even two dignified and prominent beings such as Titania and Oberon couldn't refrain from defending themselves to present a more favorable image.

After a few more moments, her laughter died, though it's echoes still resounded through the courtyard.

"So you'll be our representative?" Titania asked.

"Yes." Elinor answered with confidence. Staying Underhill she wasn't sure she could handle, but to return Overground was to be in her natural element. Sure, Underground was beautiful and relaxing, but to a being who, up until a few days prior, had lived in a tumultuous world of surprise, change, and action, it seemed too overwhelming to reside in Paradise.

"Your duties will include filling in for Glenys, our ambassador to the Overground vampires, from time to time. Their matters are less pressing to us, and therefore require less attention, but Glenys has just gone through the sidhe equivalent of the mortal marriage, and she and her husband are eagerly anticipating having children."

_Alright, my lovelies! Elinor has recieved her (dual) ambassadorship with the humans _and_ vampires, so this should turn out interesting... Anywhoo, Twilight comes in next chapter. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die and all that rubbish. _


	4. An Encounter of the Third Kind

_Okay, so here is chapter 4. I'm so sorry for the delay between the chapters, but this is my senior year, and, right now, I'm busy with AP tests, finals, and finishing up with college acceptance. Updates will, as usual, be lamentably behind schedule, but I promise to make the wait worth your while. For those of you who read, review, mark the story, whatever, thank you. Once again, this chapter is for you guys. Hope you enjoy._

Chapter 4

The rare English sunshine entered Elinor's office, located in Central London, from the massive glass windows she'd had installed after the building was bombed in WWII. Overlooking St James' Park, her windows allowed her a perfect view of the Australian Gates in front of Buckingham Palace, where the flag flew from the pole atop the impressive white building. Outside, tourists swarmed around the square to watch the ceremonial changing of the guard, several bobbies on horseback rode about, making sure that the assembled crowd stayed where it was supposed to, and Elinor's wayward secretary finally made her way through the red door and up the several flights of stairs to the office.

"Sorry I'm late, Ms Mariner." The woman apologized over the intercom from her desk, "I had a dentist's appointment this morning, and the tube was crowded with tourists coming for the ceremony today."

"Mrs Anders, you should be well used to the crowded tube, seeing as how the changing of the guard occurs every other day, and I know for a fact that your appointment was not today. Your husband called wondering if you were in." Elinor's voice was harsh over the machine, enough to make her secretary flinch, "If you wish to conduct affairs, please make sure that they do not occur on my time. You are my fifth secretary in a year, and I am not opposed to take on a sixth."

With that ominous warning, Elinor hung up and fingered the bridge of her nose in frustration. For nearly sixty years, her office had been a well-oiled machine with the elderly, but hard working, Mrs Geralds as her secretary. When the woman's son had taken ill, Elinor urged her to make the journey to Aberdeen to care for him, assuring her that she would be fine on her own; she was perfectly capable of hiring a replacement.

Now, she was regretting the decision.

The seemingly innocent letter from Seattle regarding her father's estate was unsettling enough, added to that, if she dared leave Mrs Anders in charge when she traveled to the States, her office would be in shambles when she returned; if she waited long enough to train a new secretary, she would miss the chance to pay her last respects to the only person left in the world she could call family. A dilemma any way she looked at it.

A beep from the intercom interrupted her thoughts.

"Um, Ms Mariner, there is a gentleman here to see you from Parliament."

Elinor sighed again. One more thing to add to her list of 'Why I need a Vacation'.

"Send him up."

------------------------------------------------------------

A man dressed in a crisp suit stood in front of Elinor, who, reclining comfortably in her leather chair, steepled her fingered on top of the manila folder he'd presented and studied him. He must be trustworthy, else he would not be delivering Top Secret documents directly from Parliament, but there was something about him that set her teeth on edge.

"You seem rather young to be in such a prominent position, Ms Mariner." The man commented offhandedly. His dark eyes bored into hers, and she met his glare with one of her own.

"I have a very good plastic surgeon." She told him, glad that the excuse had become available in the past fifteen years so she didn't need to constantly alter the illusion she wore. Most people bought it, but this man didn't seem to buy her explanation.

"I've heard a lot about you." He offered.

"That's nice," she replied, warily this time, "Now, if you don't mind, I have work that I need to do, and you're only distracting me."

"I'll bet you do." Again, the man didn't seem to believe her. He pulled something out of his pocket, wrapped in a handkerchief, and moved a step closer to the desk. Elinor felt the sharp pang of iron before she saw the dark metal cross, held almost lovingly in the man's hands.

"Can I help you with something?" She swallowed, trying to fight off the adverse effects that Cold Iron brought on. The man disregarded her question and began to gently stroke the cross. "Who are you?" Elinor demanded, wondering what kind of lunatic the man was, "Where is Thomas Akins?"

"Mr Akins was regrettably… unavailable today. He seems to have been detained by some rather pressing matters." The man smiled darkly and chuckled a little. "I have a feeling that you won't be seeing much of him in the future, demon."

"I beg your pardon?" Elinor was taken aback: demon? Whatever had given him that idea?

"Oh yes," the man continued to advance, "when Margaret Anders approached me with the suspicion that you were a demon, I didn't believe her. But, now…" he let the sentence trail and leaned over the desk. Involuntarily, Elinor dodged the cross. The man grinned maliciously, "I think she might have actually found one after all."

Rolling her eyes at her secretary's idiotic notion, Elinor leaned further back into her chair, and reached for a slim silver blade Aferdaen had given her before she moved back to the mortal world. The distance helped ease the slimy ache of Iron, and, if things got as bad as she supposed they might, the weapon could help her escape relatively unscathed.

Her intercom beeped again, though this time, Mrs Anders' nasally voice wasn't speaking into the system. Instead, it sounded as if someone was repeatedly pressing the button. Even if she doubted her obviously mental secretary's abilities before, she knew that even the warped woman would have enough brain power to press the button, then speak; she'd done it a hundred times in the past few weeks, so what was wrong now?

Now listening intently downstairs rather than to the raving lunatic in front of her, Elinor heard the sound of light footsteps and a gentle 'thud' of somebody hitting the carpeted floor. So either Mrs Anders took out a customer, or someone was coming to her rescue.

She hoped it wasn't Denoriel.

Soon enough, her prayers were answered as a familiar spiky blonde head poked through the doorway. "Jarlath!" she gasped out delightedly.

The vampire's amber eyes quickly surveyed the circumstances; he saw a man approaching Elinor, muttering nonsense in Latin and bearing Cold Iron, and he saw the sword in Elinor's hand preparing to strike.

Moving faster than a mortal eye could see, Jarlath grabbed the man's wrist, his golden eyes quickly changing to a burning black. It was easy for the man to see how angry the newcomer was, especially as Jarlath's superhuman strength easily wrenched the cross from his grasp. Soon after he held the cross safely encased in his pale fingers, he risked standing in the sun and threw the offending object out of Elinor's partially opened windows.

Sighing in relief, Elinor relaxed, the sharp silver weapon hanging loosely from her grasp. The unfamiliar man edged towards the door as quietly as a human could. But not quietly enough to escape the notice of a vampire and a sidhe.

Jarlath turned rapidly from the windows to race at the man; Elinor, in turn, picked up the tip of her sword and flew at her attacker. She barely beat Jarlath, and in scant moments, she held the tip of her blade at the man's throat.

"You," she declared in a rasp caused by the Iron, "have just violated several unspoken laws lying between Above and Underhill by attacking me. This bears the penalty of Death by Oberon and Titania."

The man shook, his brow covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His fear was evident as Jarlath advanced behind her, his feral side emerging to protect the sidhe ambassador. The vampire growled ominously as the man disappeared.

"They are gone?" he asked Elinor when he had recovered his senses.

"Yes," she sighed, then groaned. "You do realize that little stunt just cost me a secretary, right?"

Jarlath looked at the dark-haired female sitting next to him on the carpeted floor of the office in disbelief. "You were just attacked by a priest wielding an Iron cross calling you 'demon', and all you can think of is your current lack of a secretary?" he snorted in poorly contained laughter, "Find a new one. You must be in the Northwestern Pacific in less than four days."

"I know. I know. The will-reading." Elinor buried her face in her hands.

Again, Jarlath wasn't sure quite what to make of his companion. "I was referring to the vampire uprising that was supposed to find its way into your dossier this morning."

Tiredly, Elinor pointed at the door. "Out, I need to think."

----------------------------------------------------

The sun had set, a spectacular show of reds and golds amazing hues of blue and pink that could never be captured by an artist's paintbrush. But Elinor hadn't seen a thing. She was trying to find out why, exactly, the Fates found it so pressing that she travel to Washington State.

There was no such thing as coincidence; this Elinor learned early on in life. That her father's will-reading was to be held in Seattle, Washington, mere days after the expected coup for vampire hierarchy. Not only that, but the coup was predicted to take place in a town less than an hour's drive from Seattle. _And,_ it couldn't be sheer happenstance that Glenys and her husband miraculously conceived just prior to when the information of the coup arrived.

She'd not been to the states since her mother's funeral, her father's second wife had no children by him, and the closest entrance to Underhill was in Montana. Nothing indicated a pressing need for her presence in the States. For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, Elinor banged her head on the varnished wood of her desk. Hearing the noise, Jarlath entered.

"Come out," he cajoled, "'Tis well after eight o' clock, and you have not eaten since your break-fast this morning. I may not require mortal sustenance to survive, but you are not vampire and have need of nourishment."

Elinor raised her battered head from the desk to look Jarlath in the eye. "How do you feel about being my escort when I try to play middleman to the vampire clans? I need at least one of their own to show good faith. Do you think that I should bring Denoriel as well?"

"More peacemakers couldn't hurt." Jarlath shrugged, indicating a total lack of concern so long as she promised to emerge from her office.

Elinor's blue eyes, darkened to a near black after her encounter with Cold Iron, rolled upwards in apparent irritation. "Fine," she grouched, "Let us go find the uppity prick."

"Your idea." He reminded her cheerily as they made the journey Underhill.

---------------------------------------------------------

"So," Denoriel squinted at his new passport, "I am to be… Daniel Seeds?" he snorted in disdain, "Of all the names the mortals have on this planet, they were not able to find another so similar to my own that was not… boring?"

Elinor grabbed his passport, "Get over it." She wrinkled her nose, "Yours is better than mine."

"Ooooh!" Denoriel seized her red bound passport, looking for the name so graciously bestowed upon her for the trip. When he caught sight of the black lettering beneath the iridescent royal crest, he snorted, "They gave you _Mina Harker_? Excuse me if my knowledge of this world is mistaken, but is that not a character in a novel devoted to the slaying of vampires?"

"Shut up," Elinor growled, snatching at her passport again. "Apparently somebody caught wind of my position."

"Uh-huh," Jarlath stared disinterestedly at his perfect fingernails, "how many mortals know about your duties?"

Elinor flushed, turning around to confront the blonde vampire, "Well," she snarled, "let's see, the entire royal family, all the leaders of the world, anybody who creates policy affecting the sidhe, and let's not forget my old secretary!" Though she couldn't raise her voice above a loud whisper for fear of attracting too much attention, her face was bright red with bottled up anger and frustration.

Denoriel snickered, enjoying the fact that her anger was being released on somebody else. "So, what would your new name be?" he tried offhandedly, smirking at a worried Jarlath.

Casting open the red document, the blonde allowed his companions to see his new identity.

"Jared Youngblood?" Elinor hissed angrily, "You got Jared Youngblood and I'm stuck with _Mina Harker?_ How in the seven layers of Hell is that fair?"

"Nobody ever said life was fair, precious." Jarlath watched a myriad of emotions flicker across her face. It was akin to playing the slots. Her moods would spin, and, if you were lucky enough to catch a non-infuriated mood, you had just hit the jackpot.

With a streak of luck coming his way, Jarlath heard the announcement calling for Group 1 to board the plane. Elinor huffed, grabbed her carry-on duffel bag, and stalked on to the loading platform. Behind her, Denoriel grimaced; he was stuck sitting next to her for the next ten and a half hours, while Jarlath's seat was three rows back. How he had managed to do that, the sidhe still didn't know, but revenge, he vowed, would be painful.

Seven hours in, Denoriel had a headache, Jarlath was resting peacefully in his seat next to the window, and Elinor was _still_ pouring over the thick folder of information, determined to memorize every last fact contained in the packet. Most of what she read was names, positions, abilities, and histories of the vampires; Oberon was a profound believer in "know thine enemy" and made certain that all of his ambassadors knew exactly what was necessary, and then some.

Not for the first time, Elinor was mentally thanking her king; vampires were more volatile than humans, and their gifts posed much more of a threat. In retrospect, since Linael was one of the most magically inclined fae Underhill, she should have invited him rather than the war-trained Denoriel. Sighing heavily, she returned to her business, reading about one of the non-Volturi vampires, Esme Cullen.

A portrait of the woman, a candid shot taken in what seemed to be a furniture shop, was clipped to the upper left corner of the paper, and her information was carefully typed up on the following stack of pages. Turned at age twenty-five in the year 1934, married to the leader of the animal blood clan, and with no special abilities to speak of, Mrs Esme Cullen wasn't one she particularly had to worry about. Neither was her husband. An older vampire usually equated to a more dangerous vampire, but Carlisle Cullen was a doctor at the local hospital, had never fed from a human, and was, by all indications, a pacifist.

Others in their family weren't so harmless. Jasper Whitlock, for example, had fought in the newborn wars of Texas long before he joined the Cullen. Which meant that he _knew_ war. Not good when Elinor considered the worst possible scenario. If there was no way for Elinor to placate the Volturi, negotiate a treaty between the two factions, a keep herself, Denoriel, and Jarlath in one piece, she was going to take the high road and let the vampires fight it out.

There was little more Elinor could do when the flight landed in the Ft Worth/Dallas Airport, so, for the entire flight to Seattle, she conversed with Jarlath and Denoriel alternately; she was seated between the two in the center seating of the 777's business class. Several men and women in suits cast irritated glances at the three otherworldly passengers as they disrupted hushed plane-phone calls with their furious whispers.

Landing three hours later, Elinor and Denoriel were exhausted; Jarlath was unaffected, as he didn't tire as a sidhe or mortal would, so he was the designated driver to the town, Forks, while the sidhe slept in the back seat.

"Arm we mere et?" Elinor mumbled sleepily as the car came to a peaceful stop on the side of the highway. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and studied her surroundings. The car was parked in what seemed to be the entrance to a park, a square, gravel paved area surrounded by a green-draped forest. Denoriel's silver head stirred from the cushion beside her as Jarlath turned in his seat.

"Out we go!" Jarlath grinned at the tired, grumpy sidhe stirring in the backseat. A rush of fresh air laden with the scent of numerous vampires filled the interior of the car in just a few seconds. Jarlath lifted his head, sniffing to distinguish between the various entities. "There seems to be at least thirty vampires, several shape-changers, and a part-human. My approximation as to their location is not quite a league West of our current position."

"Yuh," Denoriel grimaced, "are we going to run?"

"How else do you propose we get there before the bloodbath?" Elinor rolled her eyes and put her leather-soled boots back on her feet before climbing out of the car.

"Ready?" Jarlath was eagerly bouncing in preparation for the run.

"We'll follow you." Elinor nodded at him, tugging a reluctant Denoriel from the car and locking it behind her.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Bella Cullen nee Swan glanced nervously from her husband, to Aro, to Renesmee upon Jacob's broad red back. There was no way that she and her family could escape unscathed, not with Caius and Marcus so intent on her beloved daughter's death. The shield she held around their ragtag group of vampires and werewolves was beginning to waver as her fear grew. On the edges of the circle, Leah and Sam were wincing slightly from the combined efforts of Jane and Alec, and Jacob was preparing to bolt.

Edward, desperately trying to bargain with Aro, cast a brief gaze at his wife, conveying his frantic attempts more thoroughly than his actions ever would. Nothing in the world could save them from the wrath of the Volturi now, not if the negotiations kept going south.

But, Bella tilted her head to the side, unconsciously mimicking the actions of everyone around her, were those footsteps of reinforcements or enemy? The forest stilled about them, the little wildlife that remained rushing off with the arrival of three personas. The first to arrive was a man, blonde, golden-eyed, and dressed in a fashion reminiscent of the late fifteenth century. The next was a female with crystalline blue eyes, dark curling hair, and dressed in soft suede breeches, a loose fitting poet's shirt, and knee-high leather-soled boots. The last was another male, this one with silvery hair and green eyes; his dress was a throwback to the Elizabethan Era, similar to that of the first man, but with less of a modern touch.

All bore silver swords at their hips.

"May I help you?" Aro questioned, dropping Edward's hand with little ceremony, before moving closer to the newcomers.

The woman stepped forward, "I am Mina Harker, these are my companions, Daniel Seeds, and Jared Youngblood. We are the emissaries of Queen Titania and King Oberon of Underhill sent to protect not only the interests of the sidhe, but also the welfare of the mortals as well."

"Where is Glenys?" Marcus, this time, spoke to the three.

"Expecting." Came the short reply, "I'm afraid that you must deal with me in her place."

"Wait a moment," a boisterous voice of a young man came from the animal-drinking side, "you mean to tell me that Shakespeare's Oberon and Titania are real; that there are magical things living in the world?"

"You are a vampire," Jarlath began slowly, "and you did not consider the possibility of other supernatural entities?"

"Jared!" Elinor hissed, "We are trying to attempt negotiations here!"

"And a fine job you're doing of it, my dear," the blonde vampire replied, "but I was only remarking on the astonishing lack of foresight exhibited by these beings. To not even think that there could possibly be others with unexplainable origins is, quite frankly, unthinkable."

"Oh," Elinor placed her hands defiantly on her hips and, eyes ablaze, met his challenge head-on, "and I suppose that you think me as ridiculous as Mr McCarty over there."

"I did not say that," the vampire edged delicately, "You, my dear, were human until attacked by that rather idiotic being I must call 'vampire' and had no idea that the supernatural world existed, let alone what creatures it could contain."

Still smoldering, Elinor gave her companion the cold shoulder and faced, once again, the warring vampire factions. Surveying the situation, she cast her gaze on Aro, then Edward, then to the child atop a large wolf.

_So,_ she surmised, _this entire argument is over the existence of one child. Obviously not an immortal child, as there is a heartbeat coming from her chest, so what is the issue at hand?_

"What, may I dare ask, is the conflict between the two viewpoints?" she finally asked, glaring at a crushed Caius.

"The Cullens have created an immortal child." Caius mumbled, scarcely loud enough that Elinor could hear him.

She scoffed loudly. "If the child were indeed immortal as you interpret the word, would she be, in the mortal sense of the word, alive or dead?"

"Dead," Marcus answered swiftly, "she would have no heartbeat."

"Then why does the girl in question have one? Though considerably slower than a human's, her heart still beats faster than that of a sidhe, exponentially faster than a vampire's. This makes her a living, breathing child; she may be immortal from her heritage, but she will grow and progress. Everything a vampire is incapable of doing. Therefore your reasons for battle are failed, and you are bound to return to Italy."

Aro hung his head slightly, cast Elinor a wary glance, then motioned for the entire assembly of Volturi to leave the clearing. Within seconds, only he, Marcus, and Caius remained.

As one, the three elder vampire approached a defiant Elinor. "You have ridiculed us before the majority of our community." Caius hissed at her, baring his unnaturally sharp teeth.

"We will, because of your meddling, loose the support of many vampire we govern." Aro ground out, flexing his fingers ominously.

Denoriel and Jarlath took hold of their swords and stepped to Elinor's side. Jarlath's golden eyes turned black with rage, and Denoriel's face went pale with anger. Not only was it forbidden to accost an ambassador during negotiations, such a confrontation with blatant disrespect was sure to incur the inestimable wrath of Elinor. Which wasn't in the negotiation plans.

"You have my apologies as to your loss of status," Elinor answered them frigidly, "but you have none but yourselves to blame. None other could have created such a fiasco over so small an imagined transgression. I know the way your governing works. Should somebody disobey, you heavily investigate rather than barge in with guns blazing. No, you wanted to bring down the influence of the Cullens, especially after they stood up to you in Volterra. You have lost touch with reality, and you have been warned. If your madness progresses just one step further, the sidhe will terminate your power and, ultimately, you."

Growling, Aro swiped at her face, only to be blocked by Denoriel's surprisingly strong grasp on his forearm. Jarlath had drawn his blade and held it to the throat of a furious Caius. Marcus was looking up at Elinor with disbelief after she had tripped him in an attempt to claw at her throat.

"Leave, now." Elinor's voice left no room for argument, and, this time, the three men heeded her warning.

_Elinor's got a backbone, huh? I know _I _wouldn't want to stand up to three men who could rip me to shreds in under half a second. But, hey, she's immortal too, so maybe she feels a bit more comfortable taking those kinds of risks, eh? More to come. _


End file.
